Cumberworld
by GuardianD
Summary: In which Hermione appears out of thin air & knocks over a 10-yr-old Tom Riddle. "Watch where you step, Cumberworld." The little boy snarls at her. She takes a step back, perplexed. "Cumber-what?" She questions. He rolls his eyes. "It's no fun if I have to explain the insult to you." 7 yrs later, she does it again: "You!" he gasps. "Not going to call me a Cumberworld again, I hope?"
1. Chapter 1: 1937

In which Hermione appears out of thin air and knocks over a 10-year-old Tom Riddle. "Watch where you step, Cumberworld." The little boy snarls at her. She takes a step back, perplexed. "Cumber-what?" She questions. He rolls his eyes. "It's no fun if I have to explain the insult to you."

 **Cumberworld** : a worthless person or thing

 **Chapter 1: 1937**

Hermione Granger's life had significantly settled down since the end of the war almost three years ago. Now fate, or someone else, was playing a very strange trick on her. That being said, she did not expect to be pulled through space when she made contact with the small trinket that had tumbled out of an envelope with only her name on it. In retrospect, she really shouldn't have opened a mystery package anyways…but it was much too late to ponder that decision now.

She felt the tug of portkey travel and was suddenly searching for her footing on an uneven surface. Her body slammed into another smaller one and she reached out to stabilize herself and another person. It turned out to be a young boy, lanky but still a few inches shorter than her, with dark and angry eyes.

"Watch where you step, Cumberworld." The little boy snarled at her. She took a step back, perplexed.

"Cumber-what?" she questioned. He rolled his eyes.

"It's no fun if I have to explain the insult to you." He says, matter of fact. He eyes her with trepidation now, glancing at the wand in her hand. She quickly tries to avert his attention and slip the wand into her back pocket.

"Sorry…um could you possibly tell me where I am? I've gotten a bit lost." She asks. His eyes narrow.

"State Ave. Why are you hiding a stick from me?" he asked casually and looks pointedly at the arm she has tucked behind her back. She chews her lip nervously.

"Um, it's not a stick…it's a…okay well it is a stick." She stalls. He waits patiently for her answer. "Um, also my name is Hermione, what's yours?" she tries to distract him again.

"Tom. Why is the stick so important to you then?" he persists. She resists the urge to hex the little, observant boy.

"It's not, it's just an old family trinket that's all. Where do you live Tom, shouldn't you be getting home soon?" she asks him and looks around at their surrounds for the first time. If she had to guess, she would say she was in London. A very old part of London. The streets are still uneven cobblestone and the buildings, although not in poor condition, have that old architecture look to them that gives them a hauntingly beautiful disposition.

"I live at the orphanage. But what makes it so important?" he asks her. She glances down at him and, for the first time, notices that he is dressed a little oddly.

"Are…are you wearing someone's old clothing?" she asks at the clean but old looking fashion that covers the boy's person. His eyebrows come together in clear anger.

"I wouldn't be making fun of what I'm wearing when you're wearing ill-fitting men's clothing." He bit back and crossed his arms. Hermione glanced down at herself in confusion. She had on blue jeans, a jumper, and some chucks.

"I'm not-" but her head snapped up at at thought: Old London, old looking clothing, men's clothing? She met the boy's eyes again.

"Do you have a newspaper?" she asked breathily. He looked at her like she was crazy.

"Does it look like I have a newspaper?" he replied snottily. She was too overcome with anxiety to respond to his rude behavior.

"Where can I get one?" she asks him, turning in a circle to glance around her.

"You can probably buy one around the corner at Dunn Circle-" he hadn't finished speaking when she interrupted him.

"Take me there." She ordered. He narrowed his eyes once more.

"No." he said pointedly.

"Fine, I'll find it myself." She said, too frantic to argue with the boy. He huffed and uncrossed his arms.

"Tell me about the stick, and I'll take you there." He told her.

"Deal." She said. He now crossed his hands behind his back and patiently waited for her to begin speaking. "The stick is a magical artifact that has been passed down for generations in my family. Apparently it is supposed to be good luck." She said. He raised an eye brow.

"That's it?" he asked. She nodded. He eyed her for a moment before walking a few steps to a mail box to his right and pulled a newspaper out of it. She glared at him and snatched it out of his hands.

"You little shite." She couldn't help but swear at the child. He grinned evilly but watched her face lose color as she glanced over the cover of the paper.

1937\. That was the year on the front of the paper. Her hands shook and she had the sudden urge to vomit.

"What is it?" the boy's voice brought her back to reality. He seemed more curious than concerned.

"I…" she couldn't get anymore out than that.

"TOM!" a woman's voice shouted from down the street. He cringed and rolled his eyes.

"Coming, Ms. Cole!" He bellowed back. The mystery woman was still frozen in front of him, clutching the paper with white knuckles.

"I have to go back now." He told her. She met his eyes, slowly processing something.

"You said your name is Tom?" she said shakily. He glanced at her questioningly.

"Yes." He clarified.

"And you live in an orphanage." She said again. He nodded and took a step away from her, suddenly nervous. "And it's 1937." She whispered now. He took two more steps back. "What is your last name?" she asked, her eyes filled with terror. Tom was very nervous now, more nervous than he had been in a very long time.

"It's Riddle." He said. In an instant the woman's body jerked away from him and the stick was back in her hand. He also took a step in the opposite direction and the two stared at each other, breathing heavily.

"TOM!" The woman called to him again. He glanced behind him for a second, and then turned to face Hermione again only to find that she had vanished. He spun around on his heal, looking for any streak of movement.

She was gone as fast as she had appeared.

Hermione Granger was stuck in the wrong timeline and the first person she had come into contact with was a young Lord Voldemort.

She paced in an alley way, clawing at her own hair.

"Un-fucking believable!" she yelled to no one. She continued her pacing until she suddenly sank against one of the building walls and slid down to have a good cry. She let herself wallow for exactly two minutes before wiping the tears from her cheeks, putting her hair into a large ponytail, and brushing herself off. "Alright Hermione, you need a plan." She spoke aloud to herself.

Her first thought was to go directly to Dumbledore. She dashed that plan out when she remembered that at this point of his life, he was still in that gray area of wanting to be master of death. She didn't trust him not to use her as a tool, or try to get information out of her if he learned of her time-traveling status. Even if it was accidental time-traveling. That dashed Hogwarts out too.

She reached into her back right jean pocket and pulled out her beaded bag. She opened the top and glanced inside. She had plenty of money; wizarding and muggle. She needed somewhere to stay, and clothing that allowed her to fit in.

"Clothing first, Hermione." She told herself and tucked the beaded bag away. She cast a notice-me-not charm on herself to keep muggle's prying eyes away from her odd state of dress until she could find a shop. She walked the street next to the one with Wool's orphanage, and found the experience of walking around London in the 30's surreal. It was all so different. The clothing, the people, the buildings…hell the way they spoke. She didn't have to walk long to find a muggle shop that sold women's clothing. She picked out three simple dresses and paid with her muggle money before leaving the shop wearing a light brown and white dress that made her feel like she was in a costume.

Now, she had to find somewhere to stay. It was getting late, dinner time had just past and she didn't even know where to look in the city. The streets were clearing and she just wanted to settle against another building for yet another crying session. She had a startling idea that made her stop in her tracks.

What was that old saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? She shook her head and turned on her heal.

"Bad decision, Hermione." She said to herself. She paused again and blew out an angry breath. "Not that that's ever stopped me before." She stated in finality, and turned back towards the way she _really_ didn't want to go. "Bad, bad decision." She still spoke to herself as she passed the street corner. "Terrible, mad really." She continued, passing the front of the house with the mailbox that little Voldemort had pulled the newspaper out of. "Bloody ridiculous." She swore and a woman glared at her in passing.

Hermione found herself at the bottom of three worn looking stone steps. The door was an ordinary looking thing. A little anti-climactic for the abode of Tom Riddle, really. "Absolutely moronic." She took the steps. "Of all the stupid things I've done." She raised her hand to knock. "Godric, I have a death wish." Her knuckles made contact with the door.

She waited, holding her breath for someone to answer. It took a minute, but finally the old heavy door opened. The small Tom Riddle glared up at her in surprise. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The staring contest ended abruptly when he slammed the door in her face. Hot rage made her impulsively slap the door.

"Hey! Tom, open the bloody door." She growled.

"Absolutely not." Came a reply from the other side. She pounded her fists on the door.

"Tom!" She screeched. He did not reply. She tried the door handle and found it locked.

"That little-" she started but paused when the door suddenly swung open again.

"Such poor manners Tom, I'm so sorry." A woman said as she opened the door to a fiercely mad looking Hermione. The woman was slightly round, with a motherly looking face. Hermione took a polite step away from the door and smoothed a hand down her skirt.

"Good evening Madam, I was wondering if I could speak with Ms. Cole?" she tried to calm her shaky voice. Tom glared at her from behind the woman. Hermione resisted the urge to stick her tongue out.

"Oh, I am Mrs. Cole! What can I do for you?" she asked, now eyeing Hermione curiously.

"I was hoping you were in need of a worker? I really-" but Mrs. Cole waved a hand at her and took a step back, nearly knocking into Tom who now swiveled his glare onto the back of her head.

"We don't need any help, sorry Miss." She made to close the door. Hermione leapt and put a hand on the wooden surface to keep if from closing.

"Wait! I really just need somewhere to stay. You don't have to pay me; I'll cook, clean, take care of the children. All I'm asking for is a bed and a meal or two a day." She tried, her voice sounded desperate and she realized she truly was. Mrs. Cole narrowed her eyes but didn't answer right away.

"You expect no payment Miss…?" She asked. Hermione nodded frantically.

"Granger. Hermione Granger. Just a bed and food. I'll work for it." Mrs. Cole paused again and Hermione held her breath.

"Alright, we'll see how you do. We need help with the cleaning and the children. How old are you anyway, you almost look like you could be in here yourself Miss Granger." Mrs. Cole said finally and opened the door more. Tom's mouth opened in complete shock. Hermione glanced at him but quickly refocused on the caretaker of the orphanage.

"I've just turned twenty." She answered, finding no reason to hide her real age. Mrs. Cole made a noise to confirm she had heard her as she swiftly turned and headed down the hallway. Tom still stood, glaring at Hermione. She raised an eye brow at him and his eyes narrowed further.

"Well? Come on then, both of you." Mrs. Cole said impatiently and continued down the hall. Hermione closed the door behind her and hurried after the woman, sensing rather than hearing Tom silently following behind.

"This is the kitchen and dining area here, the stairs we passed by the door will take you up to the children's rooms. That door leads out to a small courtyard area, in here we have the pantry and wash room for clothes and the likes. This one goes down the the cellar, not much down there except for the naughty room. I'm sure Tom could tell you about it." Mrs. Cole snipped and sent a look over her shoulder at Tom. His glare never lessened and he met Hermione's eyes briefly before mumbling something under his breath.

"This is another staircase up to the rooms, this hallway back here has my room, Mr. Porter's room, our main office, and a meeting room for prospective parents to meet with the children. It doesn't get used nearly enough." She grumbled out the last part and Hermione quickly catalogued as she hurried after the woman.

"Now, we don't have any available rooms in our hallway, so you'll have to do with a small room upstairs with the children. Might actually work out nicely, I won't have to climb the stairs if you're already up there to tuck them in and make sure all is quiet." Mrs. Cole finished her rapid tour by spinning around and looking at Tom once more.

"I believe there is a room across from yours that is unoccupied, Tom? Please show Miss Hermione up to it. We've already had dinner, so take the night to settle in and I'll introduce you to the children in the morning at breakfast." Mrs. Cole told her, and with a nod goodnight she has spun and disappeared down the hallway that lead to her own room.

Hermione and Tom stood in silence for a moment.

"Are you stalking me?" The little boy finally spoke. Hermione licked her dry lips, not knowing what to say.

"No, Tom. I just need a place to stay and this was the only thing I could think of." She settled for a partial truth. In reality, she was kind-of-stalking him. He continued to eye her, clearly not believing her. She sighed.

"Can we talk about this later? I'm very tired and I would love to sleep." She tried. He stood, arms crossed and glared up at her for another moment before his frown lifted slightly and he spun towards the stairs.

"Lucky for you, your room is right across from mine. Should make the stalking easier." He lead her up. She snorted out a laugh.

"I'm not stalking you." She rolled her eyes now.

"Are too," he argued back.

"Are not." She retorted.

"Are." He said.

"Am not." She insisted back again.

"Uh-huh." He said. She was about to reply again, but knew she would get no where with the ten-year-old Dark Lord. They had stopped in front of a dingy, scratched up white door. Instead of replying, she stuck her tongue out at him and was almost pleased when the corner of his mouth twitched as if he was repressing a smile.

"Was that a smile I saw, Tom?" she decided to goad him. He frowned and crossed his arms again.

"Definitely not." He told her. She smiled at him now; he was kind of cute when he was being stubborn and wasn't trying to kill anyone or take over the world.

"Sure, Tom." She said and spun to open the door. "Goodnight!" She called to him. He grumbled back and she quietly chuckled before closing the door and examining the small room. It really might as well have been a closet rather than a room. They were clearly using it for storage rather than a bedroom, and she figured she was lucky there were only a few items to move off the bed at all.

Next, she set to work with a few cleaning charms and manually moving some of the random objects stored in the room to make the space a little more maneuverable. After making sure the thin blankets of the bed had no surprises residing in them, she settled down and closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh.

She needed a plan. A plan that would successfully get her back to her own time, not alert Dumbledore of her presence, _and_ not expose her magic to Tom. It was going to be hard. He was a smart, observant, little boy. A miniature version of Voldemort. Mini-mort, if you will. She resisted the urge to laugh at her stupid joke, and frankly, stupid situation. She was stranded in the wrong time with no help from anyone else, no knowledge of how she was transported here, and no access to the Hogwarts library. Easy really.

She was in some deep shite.

 **AN: Thank you for reading, reviews are much appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2: Ice Cream with Mini-Mort

**Chapter 2: Ice Cream with Mini-Mort**

Sleep must have taken her very quickly, because the next thing she knew, she was being awoken by a poke on her face.

She swatted it away and rolled over. She heard a giggle and blinked open her eyes. Two, bright blue eyes stared at her from about 6 inches away. She gasped and jerked back, hitting her head on the wall. More giggles. Rubbing the back of her head, she glared at the small group of children that had accumulated in the tiny space of her room.

The child with the blue eyes had a guilty smile on his face, but he was probably no older than four or five so she couldn't really be mad. She scanned the rest of the faces in the room, and found Tom Riddle casually leaning against the door frame; arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

She could be mad at him though.

"Are you our new girl?" The little blue-eyed boy asked. Hermione refocused on him and gave him a gentle smile before stifling a yawn.

"I'm helping with the children and the cleaning, yes." She told him. There were about four other children behind him that were all giving her the same curious glances.

"Do your parents not want you too?" A little girl clutching a raggedy looking bear asked timidly. She was missing some of her front teeth, but chewed her lip with the remaining ones.

"My parents are…not around anymore. I'm on my own." She settled on telling them.

"Are you married?" Another little girl asked. An older looking girl who was holding the little girls hand shushed her before speaking to Hermione.

"My name is Annabelle, I'm 12. This is Eddie, he's five-" she gestured to the blue-eyed boy, "Gracie is the one with the teddie, she's seven, and this is Alice, she's three." The girl introduced. "Oh, and Tom." She noticed the young wizard by the doorframe. Hermione smiled at them before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing.

"Well, is it time for breakfast then?" she asked. Annabelle nodded. "Okay, lets get to it then." She decided for the group, and grinned at Eddie when he tucked his little, trusting hand into hers. She saw Tom roll his eyes before pushing off the door frame.

"I've got another hand if you want it, Tom." She teased him.

"Bugger off." Came his reply from the hallway. Hermione chuckled; she was actually enjoying tormenting him. She might as well, she was probably going to die by his hand anyways.

"You best not get on his bad side." Annabelle whispered to her as they walked towards the steps. Tom was already down at the bottom, not bothering to wait for the group.

"Tom?" Hermione questioned the girl. She nodded gravely.

"He's…different. Bad things happen around him. People get hurt." She warned. Hermione nodded and moved a little faster when Eddie tugged at her hand.

"Hurry! I'm hungry!" He whined. She let him pull her down the stairs and towards the little kitchen area where there were another half dozen children already sat waiting for their breakfast.

"Oh! Good, you're up!" Mrs. Cole bustled in, carrying a steaming tray of something that looked like some kind of porridge. "First is breakfast, and then we'll need some help cleaning the dishes. All the children have their morning chores to do, so you'll have some help with dishes. Afterwards I've got the babies to look after, and some clothes to mend, but I was hoping you could run to the market and pickup what I had on this list?" Mrs. Cole pressed a crumpled piece of paper and small change purse into her hand.

"I'm not sure where the market is." Hermione replied sheepishly.

"Take one of the older children, they'll show you." Mrs. Cole told her over her shoulder, already turning to head back through a door and into the main kitchen area. Hermione nodded at her retreating form and glanced around the room. The children had lined up to grab porridge from the tray. After waiting and putting a small portion of the gray-looking slop onto her own dish, she headed to a table that was completely empty save for one child: Tom. If she was going to die anyways, she might as well have a little fun.

He groaned when she sat opposite of him.

"Can't you wait until after morning chores to do your stalking?" He asked, uninterestedly pushing around the porridge.

"There are no breaks in stalking, Tom." She replied sassily. He glanced up at her and glared. She ignored him and took a bite of her food.

"This…tastes like nothing." She stated. He looked back down at his own and continued to move it around the plate.

"Welcome to Wool's." He replied. They sat in silence, both slowly eating. Hermione studied him while he wasn't looking at her.

He was thin…too thin for his age. His cheeks were slightly hollow and his skin was a pale shade that would have made him fit into the Malfoy family (besides his lack of fair hair and blood status). His dark hair was neatly combed and his simple clothing was pristine. He seemed to have a permanent scowl, at least around Hermione, and dark eyes with a slightly golden ring around the iris.

Most definitely not the blood-red gaze she knew.

He _almost_ looked like a distraught orphan boy who just needed a few hot meals and a hug.

Almost.

She knew what that little orphan boy would grow up into. The things he would do. The people he would kill. The lives he would change forever. In that moment, Hermione had another thought: What if she was sent back for some purpose? Why else would the first person that she, literally, bumped into be the young Dark Lord? Was it fate? Was she supposed to change his mind some how? Change the future?

Dumbledore's cautionary words about messing with time echoed in her head. Or maybe, this was all pre-destined, and in her time, Tom Riddle had _already_ known this Hermione. It had already happened. A sudden headache stabbed at her brain. She groaned and rubbed her forehead, drawing the attention of the evilest wizard she had ever know.

"What? It's only your first day; you have no right to complain yet." He told her. Hermione looked at him, debating a sudden idea she had. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked her, slightly leaning away from the table. She'd made up her mind: Fuck it.

"I have to run to the market to shop for Mrs. Cole later. The problem is, I don't know where it is. Will you come with me?" she asked. He eyed her, still unsure.

"Why, so you can kill me? Kidnap me? Get me alone?" He asked her. She couldn't help the laugh that slipped from her lips. He was afraid of her! Good. Maybe that would keep her alive a little longer.

"I have to warn you," he said in a suddenly low, and serious voice. "I'm not like the other children. You can't hurt me." He told her. She sobered immediately.

"I know, Tom." She answered gently, suddenly wondering how he _had_ been hurt over his lifetime. "How about: you help me at the market, and I buy us a treat?" She bargained. He raised an eyebrow.

"You have money?" He asked. She nodded.

"A little. Enough to buy an ice cream or two." What she didn't know, was that his mouth started watering at the words 'ice cream'.

"Okay, I'll do it." He said after taking an, unnecessary, moment to think about it. He didn't want her to think him eager. Or easily bribed.

She gave him a small smile and they silently finished their meal before she headed into the kitchen to start the dishes. Annabelle and a quiet boy named Elliot helped her wash and dry the dishes assembly-line-style.

"How long have you been here?" Hermione quietly asked Annabelle as she handed her a bowl to dry.

"Since I was three. My Mum died and I don't know much about my Dad." Annabelle answered. "What about your parents, you said they weren't around. Are they dead?" she asked bluntly. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek. They might as well be; they didn't even know they had a daughter.

"Yes, they've been gone for a while now." She answered. Annabelle nodded solemnly.

"Most of the children here have dead parents, or worse, parents who didn't want them." She told Hermione.

"And not many get adopted I take it?" Hermione asked. Annabelle nodded, but Elliot spoke.

"The babes' usually go first. It's rare for anyone over four to go." Elliot added.

"Once you hit seven, there's no chance. You're here until 16, and then you leave." Annabelle said. "No one's ever been adopted after seven. Never."

They finished the rest of the dishes in silence and Hermione went up to her room to change before heading to the market with Tom. She didn't have to look far to find him; he was snooping in her room when she opened the door. He didn't even look guilty when he spotted her in the doorway, just turned casually and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Making yourself at home?" she asked him, also crossing her arms to mirror his stance. His eyes flashed down, taking in her movement, but quickly up again to meet her gaze.

"Well, if you're stalking me, then I have every right to stalk you." He reasoned. Hermione snorted and shook her head.

"Good luck, I own three dresses. Now out; you don't get a free show while you're snooping." She said. This seemed to do the trick, because at the insinuation of her changing, his cheeks tinged pink and he hastily retreated out of the room. She resisted a giggle and quickly changed into the simple blue dress she had purchased.

"I miss pants already." She spoke aloud to herself. She reached, shoulder deep, into her beaded bag and pulled out a fresh pair of knickers, very grateful to have them. She had several pairs and a few bras too in case of emergency or an unexpected trip. This definitely counted as an unexpected trip. She longingly stroked a pair of robes that she had stashed in the bag too, but controlled her flair of emotion.

Next, she pulled out some of her muggle money and had a thought to transfigured it slightly to have the correct look and year so it wouldn't be invalid. That would definitely cause for some attention. Then she froze and realized that she had already made a purchase with the original money: the dresses. She slapped a hand to her forehead and groaned. Shite. Already messing the future up.

"I really am a Cumberworld." She mumbled to herself. Her only hope was that the shopkeeper still had the money, and she'd have to work some spell to swap it out with the transfigured stuff. She tied the bag shut again and re-cast the charms she had on it that only allowed her to open it, and never lose it from her person. It couldn't travel more than a meter from her. She cast another quick charm to shrink it further and tucked it into her dress pocket. Her wand was safely up her sleeve and magically stuck to her arm; ready in the blink of an eye if she needed it.

She made her way to the hallway one more, where Tom was waiting against his own door across the hall. He nodded wordlessly to her and lead the way to the front door. They didn't speak until they had rounded the corner of the street and headed toward, what she assumed, was the market.

"So, how long have you lived at Wool's?" She already knew the answer, but he didn't know that.

"Why do you want to know?" He asked, eyeing her suspiciously. She sighed and decided not to push him. She'd get no info if he thought she was prying, or had an ulterior motive.

"Just curious. So, where is the best place to get ice cream?" she asked. He cracked small smile before hiding it quickly.

"Mason's Sweets. We should go to market first though, or else all the good stuff will be gone." He told her. She nodded and pulled the list out of her pocket.

"This seems like a small amount of food for almost a dozen children and a few adults." She stated looking over the small number of items.

"We don't get a lot fresh from the market…mostly raw things like flour, butter, eggs, occasionally sugar…I think Mrs. Cole has some kind of arrangement with the butcher, baker, and a few farmers. We take what they can't sell at market. Sometimes people donate things." He elaborated.

"What about fruits and vegetables? I don't see any on this list besides potatoes…and those are a starch." She asked him. He shrugged.

"Who will pay for all that?" He questioned her, not expecting an answer.

They walked silently again until they came across a busy street. Vendors lined the sidewalks and swarms of people milled and dodged each other. Hermione saw a few old, vintage looking (vintage to her) motorbikes that had crates stacked high.

There were many loud sounds, strong odors, and odd sights around her. As she was taking in her surroundings, she was suddenly yanked to her right. She looked in front of her in time to see an angry looking motorist wave a fist at her as he passed. She felt Tom's small hand fisted in the hip of her dress. He quickly let go when she looked down at him.

"Have you never seen a market before?!" he yelled angrily. She swallowed.

"Not like this." She answered, distracted by the shops that lined the street. He rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Come on, don't get lost. Or hit by a driver." He added. She followed him as he expertly weaved the street of muggles. It was very surreal to her in that moment; she was following Lord Voldemort down a busy, muggle London street. He had no idea what he was. He had no idea that he didn't belong here with these people. He belonged in the world of magic. It didn't give him a right to hate the muggle world…but he deserved to grow up knowing that it existed.

"The money, Hermione." She was brought back to reality when Tom got her attention.

"Oh! How much?" she asked, pulling the change purse that Mrs. Cole had given her and handing it to Tom. He counted out the coins he owed, and was handed a few loaves of bread. After, they headed to pick up butter and flour. Tom, ever the gentleman, carried it all in a bag that she hadn't noticed he had brought with them. Smart boy.

"Alright, that's everything. Now, to Mason's?" She asked him. He didn't repress a smile this time, and nodded eagerly. Within a few minutes walk they had arrived at the sweets shop. She ordered two chocolate cones, per Tom's choice, and discreetly reached into her beaded bag to grab her modified muggle money.

Her and Tom left the shop and she couldn't help the please smile when she noticed him savoring the ice cream. She quickly looked away, knowing that he would be embarrassed if he saw.

They strolled in a comfortable silence back towards the orphanage. Hermione noticed a book shop called 'Berdet's' and grabbed Tom's sleeve.

"Can we stop in?" She asked, but didn't wait for a reply before pulling him towards the shop.

"I thought you had enough money for ice cream, not a book." He said, bewildered. She didn't reply as she drug him through the door.

She inhaled the familiar smell as they entered.

"Afternoon Miss! And young Mr. Riddle! How are you?" The shop keeper greeted them.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Berdet." Tom greeted. Hermione shouldn't have been surprised that Tom knew the book shop owner.

"And who is this lovely lady you've brought to me?" Mr. Berdet asked. Tom's cheeks tinged again. Hermione smiled at the older man. He reminded her fondly of Olivander for some reason.

"Hermione Granger." She introduced herself to him, seeing no need to hide her name. He took her hand and kissed the back of it. Hermione was the one who blushed this time.

"Are you a fan of books too then, Ms. Granger?" He asked her. She nodded with no hesitation. "Ah, yes. Young Tom has been coming around for years now." He told her. Tom had already wandered off to look at a nearby shelf. Hermione smiled again at Mr. Berdet as he offered to help her if she needed anything before she joined Tom at a shelf.

"I love that one." She said to him, looking over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, looking sheepish.

"You like reading?" he asked. She grinned.

"Obviously." She teased, bumping his shoulder. She made her way down the isle and scanned some of the books. She didn't see how the young Dark Lord's eyes followed her. She picked two books from the shelves to bring back to the orphanage with her: _Alice in Wonderland_ , and _Pride and Prejudice._ They were both familiar books that she had read, even before she went off to school at Hogwarts, and they gave her a comforting sense of familiarity. She found Tom again and he and scrambled up from the floor as she approached. He had slid down against a shelf and was reading.

"Find something?" she asked. He eyed the books in her hands as he went to slip the book back into its place.

"No." he said simply. Her brows furrowed.

"You don't want anything?" she questioned. He shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't have any money." He said. She resisted a sigh.

"I'll buy you one Tom, really. It's not too much." She tried.

He shook his head and backed towards the door.

"I'll just wait for you outside." And he was gone from her sight. She blinked away the sudden urge to cry for the little boy.

"He never guys a thing." Mr. Berdet told her at the counter.

"But he comes in often?" She clarified. He nodded.

"Every Saturday he comes in and cleans for me, and in exchange I let him relax and read for as long as he likes. Sometimes he'll borrow books; always brings them back in pristine condition too." Mr. Berdet told her. "He's stubborn but noble, that young man. Won't take any favors. Always needs a fair trade." Hermione realized that he thought she was doing him a favor if he let her buy him a book. She would have something to hold over his head. She wanted to cry again.

After thanking Mr. Berdet, she exited the store and found Tom waiting, one hand wrapped around the bag and one shoved in a pocket, and off they headed back to Wool's.

"You know Tom; I really wouldn't mind buying a book for you. You helped me a lot today. You deserve it." She spoke. He didn't respond for a minute.

"You bought ice cream." He said simply. Hermione could tell that was the end of that, and she wouldn't be able to sway him any more.

"Oh yes, you owe me a foot massage for that one." She responded. He looked at her, horrified. She couldn't help her chuckle.

"Just kidding." He let out a breath, and a tiny smile. "Unless you're offering."

 **AN: Thank you for reading! Reviews are very much appreciated; I can't tell what people really think of this story so far.**


	3. Chapter 3: Lamia

**Chapter 3: Lamia**

Life at Wool's was built upon the same, boring routine. Breakfast, chores, lunch, nap-time for the little ones, free-time for the older kids, supper, and then bed.

Over and over and over again.

No wonder Riddle hated this place. Among other reasons. Tom was not very well liked by anyone in the orphanage (Surprise!). Hermione noticed that she was the only person who really even acknowledged him, and he didn't seem to mind. Sometimes she would sit with him during meals, or travel to the market with him, or sit in silence and read.

He was a veracious reader. He read in the morning before breakfast, after chores, in between lunch and supper, before bed with whatever daylight there was left and, occasionally, by candle light too. Hermione wished she had that much time to read. Mrs. Cole wasn't lying about needing help. All day Hermione cleaned, watched and played with the little children, fed or bathed the babies (there were three) or helped prepare meals.

She was currently cradling a baby named Adeline who had fallen asleep in her arms as she made her way out to the small courtyard where Tom sat in his favorite spot at the base of a large tree. Hermione noted, not surprisingly, that he had a small gardener snake wrapped around his wrist. She hadn't forgotten he was a parsel mouth, she had just never seen him in action.

As she approached with the sleeping child Tom looked up, surprised at her presence.

"Hermione." He said and nodded in greeting. She smiled at him and nodded in return.

"Do you like it?" she asked, gesturing to _Alice In Wonderland._ He had asked her what her favorite book was, and she couldn't very well tell him it was _Hogwarts: A History,_ so she had to settle for the classic, which she insisted he read.

"It's…not what I thought it would be." He admitted.

"What did you think it would be?" she questioned, truly curious at the answer.

"When you told me it was a fictional story about a girl who fell into a fantasy world I didn't think it would be so…"

"Dark?" she finished for him. _Alice in Wonderland_ was no scary, dark magic book, but Hermione had a feeling that the 10-year-old Tom Riddle might find it a little fascinating, as it wasn't your typical happy-go-lucky fairy tale story.

He nodded, grinning a little. She wanted to roll her eyes. Was there even stopping this kind of evil? Was her simple plan of treating Tom Riddle with respect and like a human being a waste of time and effort? Not that she had anything else to do; all her would-be plans of getting back to her own time were theoretical, at best, and none of them had been realistic enough to make it past the 'crazy ideas' page she had going.

She did have a next step in her 'plan' though. This coming weekend she asked Mrs. Cole if she could take a day trip into the country. What she was really going to do, was take a trip into Diagon Alley. She had debated with herself, the first week at Wool's, if she should go and stay at the Leaky Cauldron; rent a room and at least be surrounded by the wizarding world. She didn't want to risk it though. What if she saw someone, or did something that changed the future, or somehow revealed herself? She'd probably be more safe and less likely to drastically change something if she limited her exposure to the wizarding world. She also didn't have the kind of funds for a long-term stay and wasn't in a position to get a paying job. She didn't even exist in this time period, so it wasn't like she could make a withdrawal from Gringotts.

Seeing no other alternative, she was planning the trip to find all the books she could on time travel and try to find her way out of this mess.

Even if she had to create her own time-turner. That was the only idea not crossed out on the 'crazy ideas' page she made…but she wasn't putting a lot of stock into it.

Adeline, now awake, babbled on her lap, bringing Hermione's mind back to the present. She had sunk down against the tree next to Tom. Adeline's little hand reached for Tom and she squawked in protest. He made no move to take the child.

"I think she wants your attention." Hermione told him. He looked at her, then down at the baby, then back at her again.

"Well, we can't all have what we want, can we?" he stated and then went right back to his book. Hermione bit her lip, trying to suppress the urge to laugh. Tom was not one who appreciated being laughed at, even if it was all for fun.

"No, I suppose you're right, Tom." She responded finally, shushing the baby, whom was now near tears. "But she is just a small child. What can it hurt to play with her?" Tom sighed and, pointedly, marked his place in the book before setting it down. Hermione smirked as she saw him rest his wrist on the ground for the snake to leave.

"Let's trade." She said, and Tom's head snapped up to meet her gaze.

"You're not afraid?" he asked, now glancing at the small snake.

"I've dealt with much, much worse. Believe me." She informed. He huffed again, and she held out a wrist upon which he let the snake wrap around. Adeline cooed in excitement when he lifted her from Hermione's lap with surprising gentleness. He settled her against his chest as he reclined, and began to read his book once more. Hermione wished she had a camera more than anything in that moment of time.

"What?" he asked annoyed, but not looking up from his book.

"Just in awe, that's all. Babies like you, Tom."

"The feeling is not mutual." He assured her in a monotone that would rival Snape's. Hermione was not surprised at his answer, but got lost in her thoughts once more and absentmindedly stroked the long spine of the small snake.

"Have you named it?" She asked Tom, referring to the snake. He didn't answer for a moment, perhaps finishing his paragraph, or debating whether to tell her or not.

"Lamia." He said finally. Hermione nodded, unsure of where the name had come from.

"What does it mean?" She questioned, fairly certain that he would not so carelessly name a creature such as a snake.

"Lamia is a half-snake, half-woman creature in Indian mythology. I read about it in a book." He told her. "It came down to that, or Nagini, which is another name for the same creature." Hermione swallowed against the sudden urge to vomit at his words. He would, one day, get his Nagini…the very 'worse' Hermione had been referring to earlier.

"Fascinating." She choked out, mouth dry. Tom gave her a curious side-eye.

"Yes." He concluded, before going back to his book. Adeline was fighting her eyelids now. Hermione glanced at the sleepy child; was it wrong of her to knowingly let a tiny, orphan baby rest on the person of the evilest entity that she had ever met? She had to remind herself that this version of Voldemort had yet to commit the same acts as his future self. An image of herself casting a familiar green curse right at the center of the young boy's chest filtered through her mind quickly. Hermione shuddered.

She could never. She would never.

A veiny, orange leaf fluttered down to her feet. Autumn was upon Wool's, and a sudden thought struck her.

"Tom, why don't you go to school?" she asked. He turned his head to her in surprise.

"School? Are you mad? You think they could possibly afford to send us all to school?" Hermione had never considered it. She bit her lip.

"I guess…but, you do pretty well for yourself anyways, with all your reading." She unknowingly delivered him one of the only compliments he had ever gotten in his entire life. His cheeks colored. That was all he had ever wanted: to be considered smart. "How did you learn to read?" she asked.

"I asked Mrs. Cole to teach me, when she had time. I didn't get the chance to learn more than the basics, and then I started visiting 'Berdet's'." He told her. Her mouth dropped but she recovered quickly with a smile and a shake of her head.

"You taught yourself how to read, Tom Riddle." She spoke aloud. "I should have known." She had, again, delivered him another compliment.

"Yes, well." He didn't know what else to say, and went back to his book but couldn't focus on the words she had just been so impressed that he could read. They sat in silence for almost another hour before Adeline woke from her nap and began to fuss. Hermione traded Tom the snake for the baby and excused herself, planning on seeing if Mrs. Cole needed additional help with supper. Tom watched her go away, and, for once since he could remember, wished that she would stay just a little while longer.

The weekend approached quickly, and Hermione was eager to escape the walls of the orphanage and head to Diagon Alley. She was equally eager to see how it was different from her own time; would the stores be similar? Some of the same? Would Olivander or his family be there? She wasn't quite sure when the wizard she'd known had taken over the wand shop. She wasn't intending to find out though; what if her wand was still somewhere in there, piled up under layers of dust and boxes?

Saturday morning Hermione sprung from bed with more energy than she'd had since arriving in 1937. She quickly made her bed, humming some nameless tune and spun to head down for breakfast. She was going to eat, help with dishes, and then she was off.

Arriving in the kitchen, she spotted Tom with a book at his usual table. She grabbed a small bowl of, you guessed it, porridge, and began to eat with gusto. Tom glanced up at her.

"Did someone put something special in that today?" he eyed the bowl. She shook her head and smiled.

"No, just excited for the day, that's all." She said. He looked suspicious.

"Big plans?"

"Visiting the country side." She told him, hoping he wouldn't look to much into it. No such luck, of course.

"The country side? You're leaving? Are you coming back? Who're you visiting?" She hadn't seen him this worked up about anything before.

"Woah, slow down, Tom." She eased the boy. "Yes the country side, yes I am coming back, hence the use of 'visiting', and just some friends." She ended vaguely. He narrowed his eyes at her sass but still had more questions, evidently.

"Friends? But you don't stay with them instead of here?" He couldn't seem to wrap his brain around it.

"No, I wouldn't burden them like that. Besides, there's no work for me there. I couldn't pay them to stay." She quickly made up. She knew he wouldn't stop questioning until he had a believable answer.

"Hmp." He said, and went back to his book, apparently done talking. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Why, going to miss me while I'm gone?" she teased. He didn't acknowledge her. "Don't worry, I'll be back Sunday night."

"Sunday night?!" he exclaimed, drawing the attention of some of the children sitting nearby. Hermione was startled by his outburst.

"Yes, Tom. I'm staying overnight." She could tell he was embarrassed by his outburst, and seemed to have surprised himself. "I'll be back before you know it, don't worry." She told him. He refused to meet her eyes and instead stared blankly at his book, once again not able to focus on the words. He was outraged at himself for not showing more restraint with his emotions. He certainly was no stranger to angry, or even violent outbursts, but he never got emotional over someone leaving. He'd never cared enough. Until now. It angered him.

"I don't care. I wouldn't even notice if you never returned." He said icily, tasting the lie as it left his lips. Hermione swallowed and leaned away from the table.

"You don't mean that, Tom." She said quietly. He glared down at his book. She sighed. "It's okay to have friends, Tom. It's okay to not have friends too, if that's what makes you happy." She paused, debating her next words. "I consider you my friend." She told him before she excused herself to go help with dishes. Her mood was significantly dampened. She knew it wouldn't be easy to try and befriend the mini-mort. She knew it might be impossible, frankly. What she wasn't prepared for, was how easy it seemed to be that he had slowly let her trickle into his everyday life. He must be mad, she reasoned, he must at least feel some sort of friendly feelings towards her, and that's why he was upset she was leaving.

For a hot second, Hermione considered bringing him to Diagon Alley with her. The thought made her pause her soapy circles on the bowl she was holding. _Think logically, Hermione._ She thought to herself. The boy is ten now, which means at some point after his eleventh birthday on New Years Eve, Dumbledore would stroll into the orphanage and tell him that he was a wizard. She didn't know when that day would be, but bringing him now would significantly mess up that timeline. She had a feeling Dumbledore would suspect if the boy already knew about magic.

After.

After Dumbledore came and talked to Riddle, she would take him. She would buy him every book he wanted (with reason, of course. No dark magic.) and answer the millions of questions he'd likely have. She'd have to make him swear not to tell Dumbledore about her.

With new resolve, Hermione finished her cleaning and swept back through the kitchen.

"Bye Tom, I'll be back Sunday!" She told him. He didn't look up from his book, but she knew that he had heard her. How was she supposed to know what would happen?

The day was a beautiful one; the air was crisp and the sunshine was bright. She happily made her way into London, observing with great interest the lifestyle of 1937.

Who was she to know that it would be the last time she would see it?

After almost an hour walk, she rounded a familiar corner and spotted it: The Leaky Cauldron. Muggles only saw a dingy, run down little shop. Hermione saw a familiar world that sent butterflies to her stomach. She practically skipped down the road and opened the door, entering the familiar pub. She found that it really hadn't changed much in her time. She was disappointed that the usual bar keep, Tom, was absent from this version of The Leaky Cauldron. She slipped right up to the bar and ordered a butterbeer. The witch on the other side of the bar looked a little familiar, and smiled warmly at Hermione.

"And who are you, then? I haven't seen you around, love?" The woman asked, pouring the golden liquid into a chilled glass. Hermione blushed.

"I'm just visiting, my name's Hermione." She introduced. The woman held her hand out to shake.

"Name's Ceelia Lovegood. Need anything, just holler and I'll be back." She promised with a wink, and went to tend to two gentlemen that had sat at the other end of the bar. Hermione raised her eyebrows at the Lovegood name. She could definitely see the facial features now, but she lacked the signature light hair and instead piled chestnut curls into a messy bun on top of her head. Hermione wished Luna was here so she could tell her that one of her relatives had flirted with her. She imagined Luna would be so amused.

After a relaxing butterbeer, and renting a room to return to, she left the Leaky and headed to Diagon Alley, hoping to head into the first book shop she laid eyes on. She was not disappointed, and soon came across a shop with a friendly, old witch who she suspected was blind.

She ended up spending hours in the shop, browsing for books on time-travel, and picking out a few promising ones. There were only three, but it was better than she had before, which was nothing. After making her purchase, she wandered down the street and observed the wizarding life of 1937. She was surprised that it wasn't so much different than what she had known of the wizarding world of her own time. Soon, the light was growing dim and her stomach was growling. She hadn't had a proper (delicious) meal in weeks. She wanted nothing but her favorite: The Leaky Cauldron fish and chips.

With food on her mind, she headed back to the Leaky and waved back at Ceelia, who had seen her enter and take a table.

"What can I getcha'?" Ceelia asked.

"Fish and Chips, please." Hermione answered as Ceelia, wandlessly levitated a glass of water over to her.

"Wandless! That's very impressive, Ceelia." Hermione expressed. Ceelia smiled.

"It's quite convenient, and when you've been doing this for so long, it becomes second nature. Couldn't do anything else wandlessly though, so don't be too impressed." She winked and turned to head back to the bar. "Oh! I almost forgot! Someone left this for you, not sure who it was thought. Just left it on the bar." She slipped a small package out of her back pocket and left it on Hermione's table.

It was a small, brown parcel with only her name scribbled on the front. She didn't recognize the writing. She had, however, learned her lesson the first time. Whatever was in this package, she would not be touching with her bare hands.

She gingerly picked it up, undid the top bit, and tilted it so whatever it was would fall out of the package. It was a gleaming silver pin. A Head Boy's pin to be exact. Her eye brows furrowed. She leaned down to get a closer look. Yep, it was definitely a Head Boy pin.

"What is is then?" a voice startled her. She jerked back and tried to shield the pin from Ceelia's gaze. Stupidly, her palm grazed the top of the pin.

"Bugger." She mumbled before she disappeared from Ceelia's gaze. Ceelia looked around the pub, and then back at the empty seat.

"Hmp."

 **Thank you for reading! Please review, I'd love feedback!**


	4. Chapter 4: Legilimens

**Chapter 4: Legilimens**

Hermione found herself hurtling through time and space, yet again, and when she finally found purchase on solid ground, she was also flung into another person. This time, instead of the small body of a boy, she was flung into the hard, lean body of a tall man. Hands steadied her and she blinked up at the person she had slammed into this time.

He had perfectly combed through hair, hard, handsome, and familiar features…and familiar dark and angry eyes.

A wand was at her throat in a second, and she was backed against a stone wall.

"You." He gasped. She swallowed.

"Not going to call me a Cumberworld again, I hope?" She questioned, trying to diffuse the situation. No luck; the wand didn't waver. "Tom-" she tried but he pressed the wand into her throat, effectively cutting her off.

"No. You don't get to speak unless you're answering my questions. Who are you, and why are you here?" He ground out between clenched teeth. He was really furious with her. She noticed his eyes scanning her, and his brow furrowed in confusion. She knew exactly what he was processing at that moment.

"You're a time traveler, aren't you?" He took in her clothing, and the way she hadn't seemed to age despite the fact that the last time he saw her was seven years ago.

"Tom, I really think we need to have a civil discussion." She insisted, still held at wand point. The pressure of his wand eased slightly, but the weight of his glare did not.

"Who are you?" he barked at her again. She flinched at his aggressive tone. Just then, an echo of voices traveled down the corridor and met both Hermione and Tom's ears. He growled and grabbed her elbow, keeping his wand pointed at her ribs and hidden by his cloak. "Speak, and you're dead." He warned and started walking towards the voices.

"One minute you want me to speak, and the next you don't-" she whispered, feeling the wand dig into her ribs painfully. Two girls, both in Hufflepuff robes, chatted and giggled quietly as they passed.

"Miss Hildreth, Miss Bonds." Tom nodded to them in greeting and flashed a charming smile. They responded with flirty smiles and waves and, as soon as they were out of sight, Hermione was once again pressed into a wall.

"This is really unnecessary Tom; I'm going to tell you everything." Only a slight lie, Hermione reasoned. "And, anyways, I need your help." She told him. He was not expecting this, and pulled back slightly. "Also, I hope you know how much it pains me to have to admit that." She finished. He eyed her silently for a full minute.

"I knew you were a witch." He said finally. She raised an eye brow.

"I wasn't sure if you'd remember that." She answered. He scoffed.

"Are you daft? Of course I remember a crazy, stalker woman pointing what I thought was a stick at me." He almost seemed to be joking with her, but a cool mask of indifference had slipped into place. His wand was still at her throat. Hermione's mouth was suddenly dry. She needed to tread very lightly; this was not the same Tom she had gotten to know. He was older, more powerful, and even colder. He was a murderer, a flawless liar, a powerful wizard, _and_ immortal. Her heart beat was frantic now, and she felt the familiar chill of fear creep up her spine.

"Now, we're going to have a long chat then, Hermione. If that is your real name." he sniffed. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"It is."

"Willing to take veritaserum to prove it?" he challenged. Warning bells rang in her head; she could _not_ speak to him while under the influence of veritaserum. There were absolutely things he could never know, especially at this age.

"Better," she said, licking her lips nervously. She missed the way Tom's eyes flashed down to the action. "I'm to understand you're becoming quite a powerful legilimens." His eye brows lifted in surprise.

"You would let me into your head?" he questioned, feeling giddy at the thought. She tried to steady her breathing.

"Yes." She said quietly. She was a decent at occlumency, and hoped she could control what he was seeing. It was better than veritaserum, at least.

"Right then, we-" but he was cut off at the loud growl of her stomach. He tilted his head slightly and her cheeks tinged pink.

"I haven't eaten since this morning at Wool's…er well I guess since, um, 1937." She smiled sheepishly. Tom paused to process.

"That's why you left." He said. She nodded.

"It wasn't exactly my choice." She told him. He eyed her for a long moment with his wand still at her throat, although, not painfully.

"Fine. Food first, then we talk." He said and withdrew the wand. "If you try anything, Hermione, I will not hesitate to hurt you." He told her. She analyzed his words. She knew he was capable of murder without batting an eyelash, so the fact that he didn't threaten to kill her meant that she was valuable. He wanted her information…badly. She still had some semblance of control then, at least…some way to possibly still get out of this timeline alive.

She gave him a nod, and he swiftly turned them, taking her elbow again. This time, he lead them towards the kitchens. After a few minutes walk they came across the familiar painting of fruit. Using his height, Tom had no trouble reaching up to tickle the pear. House elves eagerly greeted them at the door.

"Head Boy Riddle! An honor, of course." A house elf bowed before Tom and Hermione. "And you've brought a Miss! Tweed is so happy, what can Tweed get for young master and miss?"

"Anything you have is good, please." Hermione answered. Tweed looked up at her with large eyes.

"Such manners! Tweed will give young Miss his best!" and he raced off, followed closely by a group of house elves. Tom pulled Hermione over to a small, wooden table by a fire and took the seat opposite of her.

"Speak." He ordered. She, once again, resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"What atrocious manners, Tom." She chastised. He glared.

"I'm not a child anymore, _Hermione_ ," he spat her name. "You cannot torment me like you did in the past. I'm much stronger than you."

"Torment?!" Hermione nearly yelled. "Are you fucking with me, Riddle? I did _not_ torment you! Even when you were being a little shite, I was nothing but kind to you." She argued back. His hands were clenched in fists on the table, knuckles white.

"You threatened me at wand point, stalked me-"

"For the last time, I was not stalking you." She interrupted.

"Oh, then what do you call this?" He questioned angrily.

"A terrible, twisted joke of some sort, really. It's not like I want to be here." She crossed her arms.

"Then why are you?!" He stood suddenly, wand drawn but not yet pointed at its target. Hermione rose from her chair swiftly.

"I have a feeling you know exactly why I'm here!" She screamed back. They both turned their heads at the sound of a throat clearing.

"Tweed does not mean to interrupt…but I's brings food." He said meekly. Several house elves watched from behind him; their arms full of bowls and plates.

Hermione takes a large breath before settling back in her chair and placing a napkin on her lap. Tom is still standing, frozen and fuming at her.

"Well, for Merlin's sake, eat and then we can continue our row. Godric." Hermione says, exasperated. Tom pinches the bridge of his nose as he sits, still glaring daggers. They eat in complete silence; Hermione gladly tasting every dish and loading her plate more than once. Tom picked around, doing more glaring than anything.

"That was delicious Tweed, thank you." Hermione patted her mouth and the house elf bowed again.

"Anything for young Master and Miss!" he repeated.

Hermione met Tom's still-angry gaze and didn't hold back her eye roll this time.

"Alright, let's talk then, Tom." She sighed, suddenly exhausted and homesick. He stood and stiffly offered his elbow, which she took begrudgingly. They walked from the kitchens and she couldn't quite tell where he was leading her, until they stopped in front of a painting of a forest scene. A unicorn trotted into view. Tom glanced at Hermione before speaking to the painting.

"Berdet's" he said lowly. Hermione pressed her lips together, stopping any comment that was sure to anger Tom further. They entered The Head's shared common room and then stopped in front of what must have been Tom's room. He hissed something in parselmouth very quietly and the door swung open. As Hermione stepped inside, she felt the ripple of wards bend around her. They were no simple, run-of-the-mill kind of wards. Not that she was surprised.

The room was not exactly the dark, broody cave she expected it to be. It was glowing from the light of the fire, and illuminated with silvery moonlight that streamed in through the open window. The large bed at the center of the room was draped with Slytherin-green silk sheets, and large, black drapes were cinched open around the bed. Books were stacked neatly on two bed-side tables. There was a large chest at the end of the bed, a few pairs of shoes lined up in the closet, and several robes hanging immaculately.

She was, again, not expecting his living space to be so…simple. Maybe he was just so used to living simply? She was literally shoved out of her thoughts when Tom gave her a slight push from behind.

"Enough gaping." He growled. Hermione caught herself on the edge of his bed, and whipped around, clearly pissed off.

"Do _not_ shove me around Tom Morvolo Riddle." She bit back fiercely. "You don't get to manhandle me like you do everyone else." He raised a single eye brow at her use of his full name.

"And how is it that you know my middle name?" He questions, looking equally angry and intrigued. He would never admit it, but he rather liked seeing Hermione riled up; she was quite a sight with her flashing, angry eyes. A normal wizard would have been intimidated, most likely. Tom didn't know of her magical ability though, but knew it would be no where near his own skill. He was not intimidated easily.

Hermione sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed her temples and forehead with an exhausted sigh.

"You may want to sit, it's a rather long story." She told him. He crossed his arms.

"I'm fine standing." He said, and she rolled her eyes.

"Godric, you are so stubborn in every stage of your life. It's infuriating!" She groans. He ponders her words; every stage of his life? Was she to show up and run into him at every stage of his life then?

"So do you make it a habit of bumping into me at every stage, then?" he asks.

"I'll get there, relax." She says, and leans back on his bed realizing how tired she is. Tom would, again, never admit that he was rather transfixed by her lazed on his bed. She takes a deep breath before she continues. "My name is Hermione Jean Granger, I am 20 years old, and my birthday is September 19th…1979." She pauses, taking in his reaction. He stands, unmoving and waiting for her to continue.

"In my time, the wizarding world has…been in conflict for quite some time. Those conflicts were resolved two years ago, and it's been peaceful ever since. I work, well worked, at the ministry and someone left a package on my desk. It had my name on it and nothing else. When I opened it and touched what was inside, it lead me to ten-year-old you." She told him. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That is ridiculously irresponsible, to touch something that you have no knowledge of where it came from-"

"Yes, I know that now, thank you." She snapped. The right corner of his mouth twitched and she knew he was repressing that 'know-it-all' grin that she was very familiar with.

"So the year was…1999, 2000?" He asked. Hermione nodded for the latter. "And now, tonight, you've come from 1937?" He clarified. She nodded again. He let out a breath and pulled his desk chair out to sink into.

"You are very far from home, Hermione." He said finally. She couldn't agree more. "Let me see." He says. She gulps. She really didn't want it to come down to this.

"Tom…whatever you see…there are things I absolutely cannot tell you. It will mess with time…and I can't be responsible for that." She said, finding no words that could quite sum up her thoughts. He nodded once and pulled his chair to sit in front of her. She took the extra second to clear her mind. She could do this. She opened her eyes when she felt strong, cool hands on either side of her face. His dark gaze pierced hers.

"Legilimens." He spoke softly but firmly. She felt him inside her head instantly and was forced to re-live the memories he saw, whether she liked them or not.

He saw the day she opened her Hogwarts letter, the sorting hat placing her in Gryffindor, the troll, Dumbledore, her being petrified by the basilik, Hagrid and Buckbeak, Sirius Black, being chased by Lupin, punching Draco Malfoy in the nose, Harry appearing out of the maze holding Cedric's body, dinner with the Weasley family in the Burrow, Delorus Umbridge smirking at her, sneaking into the ministry under polyjuice…all these memories he flashed by quickly. He paused at one though; the one she would rather not re-live.

She was on the floor of Malfoy Manner, her back was arched in pain and silent tears leaked from her eyes. Blood dripped from her mouth and blocked her throat. Thousands of hot knives stabbed at her body.

"Filthy little Mudblood, getting your rancid blood on such a lovely rug!" Bellatrix yelled at her. "Now, I shall ask once more: Where did you get the sword?" Hermione did not answer, again, and instead continued to wither under the crucio Bellatrix had been holding for what felt like days. "Maybe this will loosen your tongue," she cackled and knelt by Hermione's left side. She lifted the crucio only to begin carving Hermione's left forearm. She thrashed against the magic that pinned her to the floor, feeling each curve of the letters Bellatrix drew. "There!" she pronounced gleefully. "Now you'll never forget your place, you Mudblood whore." The crucio began again.

Hermione found purchase against Tom's chest and shoved him away from her, breaking their eye contact. She was panting, tears left tracks down her cheeks, and her left arm stung just as it had when the scar was new. She turned away from Tom's shocked expression as he sat in the chair. She lay panting on his bed, trying to catch her breath.

"Who did that to you?" he asked, voice low and dangerously smooth. Hermione couldn't answer him. She blinked away the last of her tears and realized she had unconsciously been clutching her covered left arm. Tom's eyes flashed down to it. "Hermione, who did that to you?" He asked again. She glared at him now, the fire returning to her eyes.

"You did, Tom." She answered finally. His eyes widened a fraction. "No, that's not right; Tom Riddle had nothing to do with it." She said, standing now. Now, she was towered over him as he sat in the chair. "Tom Riddle was a curious, smart, troubled little boy. He had no friends, no family, and no place to belong. But he _did_ have a soul. _This,"_ she pulled the sleeve of her dress up to show the Mudblood scar. "was done by a snake so evil, people couldn't even say his name. A beast with a _tiny fraction_ of a soul. A man so hungry for power, he destroyed himself and the wizarding world that he loved so much just to try and get it." She growled and grabbed his face again. This time, she whispered the words to get into _his_ head, but instead pushed her memories into the forefront of his mind. He gasped as she harshly invaded his brain.

Draco Malfoy and his gang hurling slurs and threats at her as she walked through the halls of Hogwarts, Sirius Black falling through the vail, modifying her parent's memories to forget her and her entire existence, Harry clutching Dobby's limp body, watching Lavendar Brown being eaten alive by Fenrir Greyback, Lupin hurling himself in front of Tonks and hit by a blinding green light, the Weasley family gathered around Fred's lifeless body. All the pain that he had caused, Hermione threw back at Tom.

Then, she showed him Voldemort himself; pale and greenish skin that looked sickly and thin, a flat, snake like face with only two slits for the nose, and blood red eyes that shone like two crimson drops of blood. His mad cackling as he struck down little children. As he played with them, like they were no better than tiny ants beneath his boots.

" _This_ is the monster, Tom, that causes my nightmares each night. That has killed more people than one can count. The creature who has torn apart the wizarding world…all just so he could say he was the ultimate power. The best. _The_ Lord Voldemort." She growled out and then shoved Tom's face away from hers.

Now, _h_ e was gasping for breath. His eyelids blinked rapidly, taking in what he had just seen. Hermione sat like a statue on his bed, waiting for his reaction. Frankly, she was prepared to die. She knew he had a temper, and she would not put it past him to hurl an Avada her way. He wasn't known for his spectacular control when he was angry. At least, if she died now, she would always have that satisfaction of shocking him. She sat, waiting for his reaction. Instead he blinked up at her, confusion written in his gaze.

Neither spoke for several more minutes.

"I'm sorry." He said quietly. Hermione choked on her breath.

"Excuse me?" She whispered.

"I'm sorry, Hermione." He said again. Her mouth popped open and before she could even process what she was doing, she had stood up and slapped him square across his jaw.

"The word 'sorry' doesn't mean anything to me, Riddle." She spat. He covered the slight sting with his palm and looked up at the only person he had ever, _almost_ , considered a real friend.

"I-" he started, but was cut off when a patronus flew into his room. It was a phoenix.

"Tom, please come to the Headmaster's office. It's urgent." Dumbledore's voice spoke through the phoenix. It disappeared and Tom looked up at Hermione. They shared a horrified expression.

"Shite." Hermione breathed.

 **Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!**


	5. Chapter 5: Tasteful Sheets

**Chapter 5: Tasteful Sheets**

"Stay here." Tom ordered. She scoffed.

"As if I've got any other place to go." She crossed her arms and leaned back against the many pillows on his bed.

"We need to make a plan, I'll try and stall Dumbledore as much as possible but-"

"But the old coot does whatever he wants anyways, yes I know. He doesn't change much." Hermione finished for him. He would have been amused at her displeasure with the Professor if not for the mental war he was waging with himself. He nodded once to her as a goodbye and then shut and warded the door behind him, adding an extra that would alert him if she left the room. He didn't want to take any chances losing her again, especially now.

On his way down to the Head Master's office, he focused on preparing for possible questions or excuses he'd have to give. He tried to relax his tense posture and let his nearly flawless mask of indifference slip into place. Knowledge was power, and he couldn't let Dumbledore or Dippet have any inclination of the mysterious girl that waited in his room.

He also needed a plan of, well, what to do with her. He couldn't hide her in his room forever, but he _needed_ to know what else she knew. The things she had shoved into his head had rattled him.

Tom Riddle was not one to be rattled.

He rounded the last corner before the Headmasters office and let out a long breath before speaking the password to the gargoyle and then politely knocking on the door to be let in. Dippet swung the door open to great him.

"Ah, Tom! Please come in and sit. Sorry to bother you at such a late hour, we didn't want to have to wake you, but it is rather important." Dippet rambled. Tom nodded to him and flashed a polite smile to the other two in the room: the Head Girl, Lottie Greengrass, and Dumbledore. The latter wizard sat in a chair on the other side and nodded in polite greeting, but he regarded Tom with his usual suspicious gaze.

Tom took the chair next to Lottie; she was a quiet Ravenclaw whom he hadn't spoken to much until they became Head's together. Because of her quiet and intelligent disposition, he was grateful that she was the one he had to share a common space with and not some common dolt.

"At about 11:30 this evening, there was an…unusual disturbance in the castle wards. Nothing to be worried about, I'm sure," Dippet tried to downplay, "but something we must be aware of, nonetheless." He told the two. Tom had mastered the art of lying and had no trouble controlling his facial features in reaction to the 'news'.

"I understand that you had patrols at that time, Tom." Dumbledore continued. "Did you notice anything…out of place?" He asked. Tom knew that no matter what he said to the wizard, he wouldn't likely believe him anyways. The two shared a mutual, unspoken caution about the other.

"Yes, I was, Professor Dumbledore. I'm afraid I didn't notice anything strange, other than a few students out past curfew, which happens often enough." He lied smoothly. Dumbledore nodded and let out a slight 'hm' at his answer. Dippet clapped his hands together.

"Yes, well now you know, just be on the lookout! The professors and myself did a full sweep of the castle and are also conducting an inspection of the castle grounds as well, so rest assured Hogwarts is still the safest place any witch or wizard can be! If you do hear or see of anything…out of the ordinary…please do let one of us know right away." Dippet told them, receiving nods of agreement. "You may return to bed, thank you both!" He dismissed. "Oh! And, for security reasons, of course, please keep this between us."

Tom and Lottie both stood and bid their Professor and Headmaster goodnight and exited the office.

"I'm going to finish my rounds, goodnight Tom." Lottie said as they reached the end of the hall. Tom nodded.

"Yes, goodnight." He dismissed and resisted the urge to sprint back up to his room. He made his way back towards the Head's quarters as quickly as he could without running, and quickly made it to the unicorn painting.

Once there, he headed towards his own door and quickly un-did the wards that were in place; they were still intact, he noted with relief. He swung open the door, irrationally fearing an empty room, but found the Hermione he remembered from his childhood passed out asleep in the center of his bed.

He wanted to shake her awake, but suppressed the urge, and quietly shut the door behind him. He did a once over of the room, checking to see if anything had changed, but found nothing different. He let out a soft sigh and scrubbed a hand over his forehead before taking the opportunity to study the witch before him.

She was exactly how he remembered; hell, she was even wearing the same dress he last saw her in. He noticed a few things that he hadn't as a child though too. Like how smooth her skin was, the curve of her hips, the way she bit her bottom lip when she was thinking.

He wanted to curse her into oblivion.

Shaking his head, he moved to his closet to hang his robe and neatly place his shoes beside the others. Hermione was a distraction. He had work to do; his Knights and he had an agenda. This agenda was important for the planning of the next few years, and he couldn't afford anything but perfection. Hermione mumbled something and he turned back to the witch, thinking she was awake. He watched her for another minute, slightly amused at her sleep-rambling, before turning to transfigure the daybed he had in the corner of his room. It was a good place to lounge and read books, but tonight it would suffice to sleep on since his real bed was currently occupied. Settling in, he glanced once more at Hermione, trying to decide if she was a dream or not. What he should have been deciding was what to do with the witch next. Fighting his eye lids, he decided it was a matter best left for the morning, and the crackling fire soon lulled him to sleep.

He was back at Wool's, lying in his bed and reading with the dull, flickering light of a candle. Outside his closed door, he heard a creak. Someone was in the hallway. _They better be quiet_ he mused to himself, not wanting to get in trouble if Mrs. Cole woke up. The footsteps stopped and Tom heard what sounded like a doorknob turning and a squeaky door slowly swinging open. It sounded very close to Tom's own door…perhaps even across the hall from his. _Hermione!_ His mind shouted at him and he scrambled up from his bed.

The mysterious girl had been gone for weeks; Mrs. Cole insisted that the girl simply didn't want to come back to the orphanage (who would?) but Tom had a bad feeling that something terrible had happened to the girl. He was bloody furious with her too. Furious that she promised to come back and hadn't, and furious that her leaving had affected him so much.

He tiptoed towards the entrance of his room, observing a pale beam of light slipping under his door. It was definitely her room that was open! He turned the door handle, heart pounding and hands sweaty. He didn't know why he was so nervous. Peeking out into the hallway, he saw that her door was indeed open. Stepping into the hallway carefully, he made his way to her doorframe. He heard a strange but familiar hissing noise that could only be from a snake. His eye brows furrowed in confusion; why would Hermione bring a snake back with her?

He stepped into the room and saw a cloaked figure hunched over the bed. It was larger than Hermione, and Tom felt the cold chill of fear tingle down his spine. The hissing stopped abruptly, and the figure turned. It was _him;_ the foul creature that Hermione had shown him in her head. _Voldemort._

He was just as obscene looking as when Hermione had thrust him into Tom's brain. This Voldemort had sharp teeth too, and there was blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. Tom took a step back. The creature's mouth twisted into a mangled smile and he took a menacing step towards Tom. Suddenly, his mouth opened and a horrible scream came out. Tom's body jerked and flailed to get away from the beast, and then felt something hard smack his elbow.

Eyes snapping open, he realized that he had been dreaming and was jolted awake by a very real, very terrifying screaming.

He lept up, wand in hand and chest heaving. Hermione was thrashing in his bed, screaming as she had in the memory he witnessed. The one where she acquired that gruesome scar on her left forearm. Not seeing any other alternative, he placed a silencing charm on her and carefully approached the bed, as if there were a wild animal there instead of a time-traveling witch who was clearly having a night terror.

"Hermione," He spoke quietly, trying to soothe her. Her mouth was still open in a silent scream. He placed a hand on her arm very slowly. "You're having a nightmare, Hermione. It's not real." He spoke louder this time. She still thrashed. He repeated himself and sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. "Hermione," he tried again and she suddenly shot up, gasping for breath and eyes blinking. Like lightening, her wand was in her hand and pointed at his chest. He slowly raised his hands to show her he meant no harm.

"Hermione, it's me. Tom." Slowly, her wand lowered and she eyed the room around her in confusion. He removed the silencing charm and could hear how her lungs labored. She blinked at him several times before crumbling onto his lap and beginning to sob into his night-shirt.

He sat, arms out awkwardly not touching the witch as she fell apart.

He didn't know what to do. No one had ever come to him for comfort. No one had ever given him comfort either… He had never encountered this kind of situation before. She continued, not letting up as the pool of tears continued to grow on his shirt, and he finally settled a tentative hand on her back.

They sat like this for several minutes until her cries had diminished to occasional sniffles, and then her breath evened out into the steady rhythm of sleep.

How odd. Tom didn't think he'd be able to sleep for a whole week after that episode, and she had slipped right back into unconsciousness.

How rude.

He carefully maneuvered himself out from under her and guided her so her head would be on a pillow. She wiggled in her sleep and found a comfy position again, letting out a small sigh. He stared at her now peaceful face for a moment more and then made his way back to his transfigured bed. Closing his eyes, he tried to fall back to sleep, but his racing thoughts kept him awake, causing him to toss and turn until dawn. How rude indeed.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open briefly before she decided that she was too warm and cozy to really wake up, so she buried deeper into the Slytherin green blanket she was cocooned in.

Against her will, her muscles contracted and twisted her into a sitting position, wand in hand and eyes darting around her to assess where she was.

She was in the head's chambers at Hogwarts, sleeping feet away from the seventeen-year-old Dark Lord, who was currently sprawled across a much too small bed. For a moment, her heart pounded in her ears. She glanced around her again, eyes settling on a bright splash of sunlight that was filtering in from between the curtained window pane.

Trying to calm her heart rate, she closed her eyes and relaxed her body, sagging slightly into the bed again. The seventeen-year-old Dark Lord's bed, she reminded herself, feeling a quick twinge of horror clench her stomach.

Eh, the kid had good taste for sheets… Who was she not to enjoy them a bit longer? She nestled back down into the blankets and let out a small sigh of contentment.

"Well, I'm glad you're comfy." A rather displease voice cut through the silence of the room. Hermione's eyes sprung open in panic.

"Merlin's balls, Tom." She gasped, sitting up and clutching her chest. "You're quieter than a ghost." Tom stood by the edge of the bed, arms crossed over his chest and a pinched look on his face that would have made the Malfoy's proud. Hermione noticed that his hair was pointed in all directions, and she realized that she had never seen him look anything less than put together. She cracked a smile, rather amused at his rumpled appearance. His frown deepened.

"What is _so_ funny this morning, Hermione?" He growled out. His grumpy mood only added to her amusement.

"Oh, Tom." She laughed and moved to slide off the bed. As she passed him, she couldn't help but reach up quickly and ruffle his hair. "You're just so _cute_ when you wake up. I always knew you were a morning person." She couldn't help but tease. She quickly moved past him towards the bathroom, wandlessly shielding her back as a mild stinging hex came her way. This only made her laugh more as she swiftly closed the door behind her. She heard the mutters of 'bloody witch' through the wood.

She was contemplating using his toothbrush when there was a pounding on the door.

"Hermione, I have class." He said in an even but firm voice. She huffed, quickly making up her mind and then opening the door.

"And what am I meant to do all day, then?" She spoke to him through a mouth full of toothpaste.

"Be a good girl and stay here until I'm done." He ground out, shooing her out of the bathroom and slamming the door as soon as she cleared the threshold. She merely rolled her eyes and waited for the inevitable. Ten seconds later, the door swung open and Tom plucked the toothbrush out of her hand. "Animal." The door slammed in her face again.

"Hey! I'm not done brushing my teeth!" She pounded on the door. Naturally, she did not get a response. Sighing, she wiped the remaining toothpaste from her lips and retrieved her beaded bag to look for some 1940s-acceptable clothing, annoyed when she realized she would need to go shopping _again_ since she definitely didn't have the proper clothing for the time. Luckily, robes didn't change too much. She settled on a pair of jeans and a pink jumper. Glancing at the bathroom door, she hurriedly slipped fresh knickers on, followed by her jeans.

Of course, this was the moment Tom chose to exit the bathroom, catching her with her jeans still unbuttoned and her outdated dress bunched up around her waist. He blinked and then continued towards his closet.

"That's an interesting outfit." He commented, picking out a fresh set of robes. She rolled her eyes again.

"Isn't this how all the ladies wear it these days?" And then she turned her back to him and continued pushing the dress up and over her head. He didn't make any more remarks until she turned back to see that he had her (very lacey) black knickers dangling from a long finger.

"These are _very_ interesting." He teased. Blushing furiously, she marched over and snatched them out of his hands.

"Don't you have class?"

"Yes, after breakfast of course." He replied cheekily, suddenly in a much better mood than when he had woken up. The mention of food had her stomach growling in protest.

"Ugh, I would KILL for some bacon."

"You could never kill anything, darling." Tom threw over his shoulder mockingly while adjusting his hair in the mirror. Hermione's mood plummeted immediately. Tom, expecting a witty comeback at his ribbing, glanced at her reflection behind him in the mirror, observing her suddenly forlorn face. Surprised, he spun around to study her.

"What curse was it?" He questioned after a moment of tense silence. Her gaze rose slowly from the floor to reveal a neutral expression.

"Anything other than Avada would have been cruel." She said so quietly that he almost didn't hear her. He paused, hoping she would elaborate more. This information surprised him greatly… He was hungry for details. "Life is wasted on war." She said finally, lifting her chin and meeting his eyes.

"War is necessary for change," Tom responded. "Sometimes, you must make sacrifices to win." That seemed to fire her up a bit, and Tom watched with satisfaction as her eyes flashed with anger and her hands twitched into tight fists.

"I _think_ it depends on what kind of changes you're trying to make." She countered with a glare at him. He felt his face slowly spread into a wicked grin, excited for the impending argument.

"Changes for the better, of course." He replied evenly and felt, with great satisfaction, the room growing heavier with her magical aura.

"Your definition of better is very different than mine, _Riddle._ " She spat his namesake like it was poison on her tongue. He continued to keep a blank expression, refusing to give her the satisfaction of any emotion other than cruel and indifferent.

"Oh, but it _is_ better when those changes include the _dirt_ of this world knowing their place beneath my shoe." He growled, amused when he thought he saw faint sparks popping in the air around the tips of her hair.

"That's interesting, Riddle, coming from a _half-blood_ such as yourself. I was under the impression that only pure-bloods were given the privilege of thinking they were better than everyone else." She finished smugly, crossing her arms. Tom couldn't help the slight widening of his eyes; she knew he was a half-blood. She had hit a sore spot and she knew it. "That's right, Tom. I know your father was a muggle. I know that your mother was basically a squib too. But that doesn't matter to you so much since you're the only living heir of Salazar Slytherin, hm? But isn't that just disappointing? The only heir and he's not even pure-blood. Shame his _noble_ bloodline isn't pure-"

She was cut off when he furiously threw a curse her way. He was shocked when she batted it away with a lazy flick of her wand. It only infuriated him further.

He fired three more in rapid succession, and was slightly impressed when none of them hit their mark, and were again shielded or dodged by Hermione.

"Stop trying to curse me, you pig-headed git! You sure can dish it out, but you can't take it." She growled at him, still in a defensive position, waiting for more spells to dodge. He contemplated a crucio - and immediately recalled her memory of being tortured by the mad woman – and thought better of it. Instead, he did something that neither of them expected, and he lowered his wand. She eyed him suspiciously and didn't move from her place.

"What else do you know about me?" he asked, eerily calm. She didn't answer right away, contemplating his question. Finally, her body relaxed, but she still held a firm grasp on her wand as she lowered it to her side.

"I know that you've already created two horcruxes… And I also know that if you want to avoid being that snake-faced psycho, you better not make any more." She said, suddenly drained. This war was supposed to be over… She had been fighting since she was eleven, and now she was literally face-to-face with the cause of said war, fighting once more. She was tired. Tom, ever calculating, paused before he spoke.

"And what would you have me do instead, then?" He asked her. She met his eyes in surprise.

"You're asking my advice on taking over the world?" She responded, incredulous. Her shock was humorous to him, and he flashed her a disarming smile that began to lift the heavy mood that had settled thickly in the air.

"Obviously, yes. You really can be a Cumberworld sometimes, Hermione."


End file.
